


Control

by ind1go_ink



Series: Mavin AUs [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, I have yet to decide where this will go if I expand on it, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3819034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/ind1go_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael’s felt the need to sort his shit out, this lack of control has gone too far. So he decides on a road trip. Who better to bring along than the person who confuses him the most?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

If there’s one thing Michael is exponentially good at; it’s self-control. Despite appearances, despite the rage and the absolute immaturity that he poses when the cameras are on - he’s always in control of himself. Always aware of his boundaries. Always aware of when he’s being pushed too far over the edge.

Gavin always seemed to make it too easy to fall into that abyss.

Three years they’d known each other, and in all that time - of fake anger, of real anger, of just dicking around - Michael can’t really say when that turned into something else, when the boundaries were crossed. He’s not all too sure that it happened in one single day, that he just picked up the extra glances, the touches that weren’t fleeting anymore, the hushed tones when they’d whisper something to each other or plot some bullshit prank that would inadvertently backfire. Maybe it was over the course of so many months that it just became the norm.

That stupid rush of warmth in his gut whenever Gavin cooed his name in that way he did, the prolonged eye contact, all the lunches together acting like they weren’t a couple whenever the cashier at Jersey Mike’s would giggle at them, comment on how ‘good they look together!’ or how ‘she wished she had a relationship like they had’. All of it became so normal  that Michael took it for granted that he could remain in that stage forever. It was something he was used to, and something he thought he could handle. But when he found that he’d just about do anything for his best friend, just to see him smile, that’s when it all went downhill.

When his boundaries began to blur, so did he. He was lost, in a specific way that could only be described as his brain turning into a mass of tangled headphone cords, each thought leading onto another one so that eventually he was so lost in his own mind that he’d lash out. But they all took it as Michael “Rage Quit” Jones, and he’d managed to fool himself too, that it was anything but the fact that he was losing control of himself.

Sometimes he wanted to give in to the situation.

Because it was never anything extreme, never Gavin grabbing him, shoving him up against a wall and crushing their lips together. It was so subtle, yet so in his face that Michael was starting to doubt himself, doubt his boundaries. He’s got to wonder just how far Gavin would take it, if anything at all would ever happen.

He’s not sure, and it’s fucking with his head.

 

It’s the state of constantly living with the anxiety that something _would_ happen that has Michael on the verge of a total meltdown nearly every day for months. He’d never been amazing at handling stress quietly. So when he’d finished filming his Rage Quit one day, and he notices, too late, that Gavin’s staring at him with a little too much longing in his eyes, he loses it.

He stands, a single flicker of uncertainty coursing through him till he sees Gavin open his mouth, feels a bolt of fear shoot through him at the thought of being confronted and knows. He _knows_ , without a single strand of doubt that he’s lost all control. When he realises it, he stares at Gavin, breath coming too fast for him to be comfortable, eyes wide, mouth slack.

“I need to go.” He whispers, ripping his headphones off and stumbling from the office, legs shaking so hard he stops in the foyer, sinking to his knees, fisting his hands in his hair and pulling sharply. The pain gives him a jolt of clarity, and he knows he can’t stop here, not where someone could find him. He pushes himself up against the wall, and with shaking hands, scribbles a quick note for Kara to explain why he needs to go, that he can’t be there. The words crawl across the page as he writes, teeth biting into his lip so hard that he tastes blood. He can’t even read the words, has no sure idea of what he’s written, but he launches himself outside into the parking lot, staggering against the bitterly cold wind, crouching low as he runs to his car, fumbling for his keys with quiet desperate curses.

He hears him before he sees him. Not that he’d be able to look Gavin in face, not now.

“Michael!”

Oh, shit.

Oh, _shit_.

_NO._

He jams his key into the lock, throwing open the car door to glance up at the door to the office, flung open. Gavin’s charging at him, running full throttle, against the wind, against Michael’s will, and before Michael can hurt himself by leaping into his car, Gavin tackles him to the concrete.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Gavin shrieks at him, grabbing him by the lapels, giving him a shake that leaves Michael feeling nauseous. He doesn’t have the energy to fight back, to get Gavin off him, and the lack of fight makes Gavin pause, eyebrows quirking.

“I need to go,” Michael repeats flatly, lying still, eyes staring blankly up into the overcast sky. He can’t bring himself to look into Gavin’s eyes.

“Why?!”

“I can’t be here anymore.”

“What the bloody bollocks does that mean?”

“Just, can’t.”

Silence. Then Gavin rolls off him, to his side and curls up beside him, staring at him with head propped up by an elbow. Dimly, Michael thinks it must hurt to press your elbow into the concrete like that, _doesn’t your head weigh like ten pounds?_ But Gavin doesn’t seem to care.

“What’s wrong, Michael?”

His voice is soft, and even with the wind carrying his words away, Michael feels them in his bones, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a frown. “I don’t know.”

“You filthy liar.”

“Yeah, so I’m lying. Big fucking deal. I can’t talk about it.”

“Why?”

Michael lets his eyes close, the fear fading away to doubt. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to let the words touch the air, so instead he switches processes. Actions always do speak better than words, anyway.

“Gavin, do you want to go on a road trip?”

 


End file.
